Cyrano, Christian, Roxane.
ROXANE (coming out on the balcony): Still there? We spoke of a. . .
CYRANO: A kiss! The word is sweet. I see not why your lip should shrink from it; If the word burns it,--what would the kiss do? Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright; Have you not, all this time, insensibly, Left badinage aside, and unalarmed Glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping? Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward-- From tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat!
ROXANE: Hush! hush!
CYRANO: A kiss, when all is said,--what is it? An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise, A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,-- A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'-- A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,-- Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,-- Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,-- The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing, When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming!
ROXANE: Hush! hush!
CYRANO: A kiss, Madame, is honorable: The Queen of France, to a most favored lord Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself!
ROXANE: What then?
CYRANO (speaking more warmly): Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,-- Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,-- Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . .
ROXANE: And you Are fair as Buckingham!
CYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled): True,--I forgot!
ROXANE: Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?
CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony): Mount!
ROXANE: This heart-breathing!. . .
CYRANO: Mount!
ROXANE: This brush of bee's wing!. . .
CYRANO: Mount!
CHRISTIAN (hesitating): But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done!
ROXANE: This moment infinite!. . .
CYRANO (still pushing him): Come, blockhead, mount!
(Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the pillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.)
CHRISTIAN: Ah, Roxane!
(He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.)
CYRANO: Aie! Strange pain that wrings my heart! The kiss, love's feast, so near! I, Lazarus, Lie at the gate in darkness. Yet to me Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board-- Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane--mine! For on the lips you press you kiss as well The words I spoke just now!--my words--my words! (The lutes play): A sad air,--a gay air: the monk! (He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out): Hola!
ROXANE: Who is it?
CYRANO: I--I was but passing by. . . Is Christian there?
CHRISTIAN (astonished): Cyrano!
ROXANE: Good-day, cousin!
CYRANO: Cousin, good-day!
ROXANE: I'm coming!
(She disappears into the house. At the back re-enter the friar.)
CHRISTIAN (seeing him): Back again!
(He follows Roxane.)
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